Hummingbirds
by MandalorianHybrid
Summary: Declan's wife wasn't the first woman in his life that Lord Benton destroyed out of jealousy. Unwilling to share his adopted son with anyone, Benton did everything he could back then to keep Declan and Elizabeth apart. What he didn't realize was he'd created two monsters who were destined to reunite in search of his blood. (Rating M-MA)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Something I'm trying out. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!

**One**

_Fort James, Canadian Territories, 1746_

It was only the beginning of autumn, but it was still so cold out. The bite in the air was enough to cause any of those unaccustomed to the extreme temperatures to shiver within their cloaks.

Soldiers wandered the grounds in groups of four or six, their bright red uniforms shining in the sunlight. Merchants and shop owners strolled through the streets, bartering and selling their wares. Frontiersmen and trappers were scattered within. Fort James was a beacon of activity in the New World, and filled with life until the bay froze over and trading by sea would cease.

Lady Elizabeth Westing walked along the streets, tucked deeply within her fur-lined cloak. She sank as far into the soft pelt as she could while the wind whipped around her. It stung her nose and ears, threw tendrils of her pale, yellow curls into the air, and made her dress sway. She was nearly home with her purchase.

As she took a right turn and the governor's manor came into view, something grasped her arm. She was snatched away from public eye, pulled into an alleyway, and pushed behind a stack of crates. It all happened so quickly, she barely managed a scream before a massive, glove-covered hand was wrapped around her mouth.

"Sh, sh, sh," he said quickly, his voice deep and rustic in tone. "It's just me."

Elizabeth's eyes found focus on the beast of a man that held her tight. She recognized him immediately. She pushed hard at his chest, forcing him back and away from her.

"Declan Harp, you snake." She hissed angrily through her teeth.

The giant chuckled and smiled wide, his hazel eyes glinting with the joy of what he'd done. "Sorry," he grinned.

Elizabeth scowled as she pressed her hand to her forehead, hoping to ebb the fear he'd put her through. It lasted only seconds, but left her heart racing.

Declan stepped forward, his wide smile shifting into a smirk. He soon loomed over her, looking like a bear with a thick fur draped over his shoulders to shield him from the winter air.

Declan was a giant of a man, towering over most at nearly six-and-a-half-feet tall. His black hair was cut shortly to his head, his cheeks cleanly shaven like the rest of the men beholden to the HBC, but he was decidedly unique. Declan may have had an Irish father, but he had a Native mother, a beautiful Cree woman who gave him her enchanting looks. With perfectly bronzed skin and devilishly stunning hazel green eyes, there was no other his equal, and Elizabeth was very aware of the fact.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He told her as he pressed his chest to hers.

"Liar," she replied, craning her neck to meet his gaze.

"Hm," he grinned. Declan reached up and ran the back of his gloved fingers down her cheek. Her eyes drifted shut and for a moment, she fell into the action before looking up at him again. "I missed you."

She smiled lightly. "You see me every day."

"Not the same."

Declan leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Elizabeth immediately relaxed into the action, letting herself melt against him. Declan wrapped his bear-arms around her and held her close. He kissed her deeply. She heard him groan when she ran her fingernails along the back of his head, a sound that made her skin prickle more than the cold.

They eventually parted. Declan let out a sigh as he rested his forehead against hers. Elizabeth ran her bottom lip through her teeth, attempting to taste every bit of him she could. Kissing Declan was more exciting than anything she could think of. The simple action left her exhilarated and filled to the brim with sensations she never thought it possible to feel.

She felt his strong hands holding her hips tightly despite the fabric between them. She clutched his jacket and kept him as close as she could. She wanted to stay like that forever.

"I have to get back." She whispered reluctantly.

She felt him nod, brushing his lips against hers in the process. "Okay," he said. Declan made no attempt to step away.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. "He'll be expecting me."

"He can keep waiting."

Declan kissed her again, this time stealing her breath completely. She heard his soft moans, the sounds he made that gave her chills, but she couldn't linger. As much as she wanted to, Elizabeth had another engagement. Pulling back from him was perhaps one of the hardest things she's ever had to do and it never became easier.

"I must go." She told him, her words breathy and fluttered.

"Okay," Declan nodded. He sounded disappointed, and she shared his sentiment. Declan's eyes danced over her face and darkened when they did. Elizabeth always liked being looked at that way, like she was desired and wanted. "Tomorrow night, by the west walls."

"Yes," she said.

Before leaving, Elizabeth was sure to give him another kiss. The watchful eyes of their benefactor were ever-present. Between Lord Benton and his soldiers, they hardly had a moment alone, so they relished in the chances they could take, however short they were.

Grabbing her things, Elizabeth gave him a parting smile before disappearing on the roads.

Her heart thundered in her chest and she found herself grateful her dress would hide her shaking knees. For years now, she and Declan had been stealing away to be together. They'd spent nearly every day with each other since they were children because their fathers were good friends, and feelings naturally evolved as a result.

He was unlike any man she'd ever met: smart, funny, caring, and extremely attractive. He made her feel things she couldn't explain. He made her feel cherished and special, like she meant everything to him. Declan made her feel safe and loved, and she loved him. She planned to spend her life with him if he'd have her.

But they kept their growing relationship secret. No one knew and they preferred to keep it that way. If word reached Lord Benton, there was no telling what he may do to separate them. Benton claimed he was "protective" over Declan. The truth was he was possessive. He viewed Declan as some kind of prize, a trophy and testament to his benevolence. It was one of the reasons Declan hated him.

When she entered the manor, Elizabeth was immediately called for.

"Lady Westing,"

Her name echoed through the halls, spoken by a deep, aged voice that bothered her to hear. Without a word, she followed the sound, walking through the halls and into Lord Benton's study.

The old man, lacking most of his hair, sat behind his desk. His deep wrinkles gave him an ever-preset scowl, one that never faded, even when his face was resting. He was a stern man who rarely smiled, so when he forced one across his lips at her appearance, it looked wrong. There was always something about Lord Benton that never sat right with Elizabeth, though she didn't have the slightest idea what.

She curtsied when she entered the office, "You called for me, my Lord?"

"Yes," he said in a slimy voice. "Please,"

When he motioned towards a chair across from his desk, she took it, setting her things down by her feet when she had. Elizabeth sat as straight as she knew she was expected and simply waited for what he had to say.

"Out in the market, I see." He said. Even though he was acting polite and kind, it rang hollow.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Well, while you were out, this came for you."

He handed her a letter that was resting on his desk when she arrived. It bore a bright red seal with a familiar crest. Her heart leapt and a smile formed.

Elizabeth excitedly took the letter and cracked the seal, opening it to read its contents. It was a letter from her father, whom she hadn't heard from in months. He was asking for her to join him in London, to come home for the season. Elizabeth hadn't been back in so long her accent was nearly gone, and it'd been a year since she'd seen her father. The thought of both was a wonderful one.

"Your passage has already been arranged."

Elizabeth glanced up from her letter with a questioning eye. "How did you know he was sending for me?"

"Oh," he chuckled. Like his smile, the sound was wrong, like he was attempting mirth versus actually feeling it. "He sent me a letter as well," Lord Benton waved a piece of paper at her, supposedly showing his evidence, but she couldn't see what was written on it. "Asking that I make sure you have the utmost care on your voyage."

"You're too kind, my Lord."

"Nonsense." He smiled. "It's the least I can do for the daughter of such a decorated man." Still wearing the false grin, Benton stood and approached her. "I've known your father now for… well, for nearly twenty years. He's always been one of my greatest friends, so naturally, I'd do anything I can to ensure your comfort and safety."

"I'm not sure what to say, my Lord." She fought the urge to cringe outright as he sat on the edge of his desk, mere feet from her. "Thank you, again."

"Of course, my dear. Now, your passage is already booked for tomorrow afternoon."

Elizabeth felt her stomach drop and her expression followed suit. "So soon?"

"Well yes, of course." He replied. "Is something the matter?"

"No," she said quickly. "No, not at all. I'm simply surprised."

"I'd have thought you'd wish to see your father as quickly as possible." His voice sounded off, as though he were mimicking concern.

"I do, yes." She nodded. Elizabeth's discomfort with the situation grew the longer she was forced to speak with Benton. She wanted to end it quickly and stood, gathering her things again when she did. "If you'll excuse me, Lord Benton, it seems I have some packing to do."

He gave her another smile and a soft nod as she left. She dashed upstairs to her room and closed the door quickly when she was safely away from Benton. Elizabeth shuddered, shaking the feeling of him from her shoulders. He was an unsettling man.

* * *

Elizabeth waited as long as possible before she sought out Declan. She had to tell him what was happening, that she wouldn't be able to meet him that night because she'd be gone.

As the sun began to rise, Elizabeth snuck out of the manor, and onto the streets. Tucked within her cloak, she made her way towards Declan's home. When she reached the back door, she knocked lightly. There was no response, so she knocked again. Finally, she heard the latch unhinge and the door opened. Elizabeth darted inside before she could be seen.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with a grin. "You could get in trouble for this."

"I had to see you." She told him.

His grin turned arrogant. "Oh yeah?"

Elizabeth couldn't fight her smile, but rolled her eyes at his behavior. "It isn't like that."

He closed the distance between them, pressing her against the door. "Then what's it like?"

Elizabeth met his eye. Her smile faltered just a bit and he noticed, taking a step back to better see her.

"I'm leaving this afternoon." She told him.

His body went rigid and he took an even wider step back than before, putting a good few feet between them. His face was serious.

"What?" His voice was flat and emotionless, a tone she'd never heard aimed in her direction before.

"My father sent me this." Elizabeth removed the letter from her cloak and handed it to him. Declan glanced over it, his face unchanging. "He's requesting I return to England for the season. Benton got me passage on a ship, but it leaves today."

"Benton," he growled. While she loved how deep and resonant his voice was, the way he spoke his adoptive father's name frightened her. "Of course he did."

Her brows pulled together curiously. She didn't understand what he meant. The statement was as odd as the way Benton spoke about her trip.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Declan looked up at her through his brows. He was angry and given his already intimidating stature and glower, it was scary to see. Something was clearly wrong.

"He's doing it on purpose." Declan replied as he offered her the letter again.

Elizabeth apprehensively took it back. "I don't understand."

Declan dropped his gaze and his shoulders slumped. He shook his head as he thought over whatever was racing through his mind. Minutes seemed to pass before he met her gaze again. His face softened just a hint.

"He's hoping to get rid of you as quickly as possible."

"Why?" she asked tentatively.

"Because he knows."

"Knows what?" Elizabeth didn't like where their conversation was heading. It felt foreboding, as though some large secret involving her was about to come to light.

"That I want to marry you."

Her brows rose and her face fell. A soft sigh left her lips at his declaration. Clearly, he found her shock amusing because a smile returned to his.

"Oh," she breathed.

His smile widened, forcing his dimples into view, and his eyes to glitter. He seemed to find her surprise adorable.

"Is that a yes?" he asked when she hadn't responded.

Speech was beyond her for a moment or two, but finally, she managed to utter a simple word.

"Yes," she nodded.

What looked to be pure joy spread across his face. Declan lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly as he lifted her off the ground. Elizabeth giggled as she encircled her arms around his neck. She'd been in love with Declan since she was twelve years old. For nine years, he was the only man she wanted to be with, and now it seemed she was being given exactly that.

When he finally set her down, Declan gave her a mind-clearing kiss, one that rendered her useless for a few seconds after it ended. Elizabeth took in one shaky breath after another as she looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I suppose I should find a ring." He teased.

"No," Elizabeth replied. His face fell. "I don't want a ring. It's not enough." He suddenly looked concerned, as though he was worried she'd ask for the sun and moon themselves. While she knew he'd try, her desires weren't so extravagant. "Rings are trinkets, easily bought, easily lost."

His brows came together. "Then what?"

"Something," she drew her bottom lip between her teeth. "Something unique. Something that's just for us."

She watched as Declan slipped into his thoughts while he considered her request. She didn't want to be difficult, but it was true. Elizabeth wanted something that the two of them shared with no one else, something that was just for them, and she was never one for jewelry anyway. Shiny, glittery pieces held little of her attention.

After a couple of minutes, he seemed to form an idea. Declan took her left hand in his, raising it so he could better see. He ran his thumb along the spot just above her wrist and met her eye again.

"Something forever?" He asked. She nodded. "Do you trust me?" She gave him a stare that let him know how stupid the question was. Declan chuckled. "Come on."

Threading his fingers through hers, Declan led Elizabeth away from the noise and bustle of the waking town, and to somewhere they could be alone.

* * *

Later that day, Elizabeth found herself bound for home. She was filled with excitement and such a deep sadness that it twisted her stomach. For the first time since they'd met, she and Declan would be apart. Never had they gone a single day without at least seeing one another and now, it would be months.

She stood on the deck of the ship and stared sadly at the shore until it was little more than a speck and Declan had faded. The cold air stung her cheeks and threatened to turn her spilt tears to ice.

But she would be back. When the seasons changed, Elizabeth would be back at Fort James and she and Declan could begin their lives together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

_He held her close, cradling her delicate jaw tenderly in his massive hands. Their foreheads were pressed tightly together, allowing little to no space between them. It was still too distant as far as he was concerned. The moment she told him of her plans to leave, Declan felt a near unbearable ache to hold her close._

"_Please," he whispered. He felt her shudder at the sound of his deep, resonant voice. "Don't leave."_

"_I have to." Her words quivered when she spoke. _

_The letter came in the morning, telling Elizabeth that her father was ill and requesting her to come home to England. With no other family, he understood that she wanted to be there when her father needed her most, but that meant she would be away from him for the first time since they'd met as children._

_He didn't want to let her go. _

_Declan kissed her. He threaded his fingers through her long, sunny hair, and swept his tongue across hers. The soft, mewling whimper of the beautiful woman sent shudders tearing through his body. He longed to hear them again, to swim in the sound of them for as long as possible._

_He pulled her into his lap, guiding her legs and dress out of the way as he did. She clamored to be as close to him as possible. He attacked her lips, kissing and nipping at them desperately. Elizabeth met his passions eagerly, plowing her fingers through his short black hair, and raking her fingernails along his scalp as she did._

_His hands glided over her body, along the sloping curves of her waist and down her back. He memorized the feel of her, the scent of her, while he still had the chance. He didn't know how long she'd be in England, so he wanted to ensure no sense was left unsatisfied._

_As his blood began to boil and before his wits left him completely, Declan managed the difficult task of drawing back from the woman in his lap. She was as reluctant, cradling him close while she panted for the simplest breath._

_Elizabeth looked at him through blue eyes darkened by longing. They stirred his desires beyond what any woman had or would ever be capable. _

"_Come back to me." He told her again. His voice was gravelly and thick with lust. "Come back to me in the spring."_

"_I will." She said breathily. Elizabeth's eyes drifted shut as she pulled him close again. "Come with me, please."_

"_I can't." He bit on the inside of his cheek in frustration. "Benton will never let me out of his sight, but I'll still be there with you." _

_Declan gently took her left hand in his. He peeled back her glove and revealed a black mark on her wrist. It was a tattoo he'd given her only a day prior, still pink and raw as it healed. _

_To the untrained eye, it looked like a figure eight with a long, narrow triangle jutting out from the top circle to the left, another off the bottom pointing to the right, but they knew what it was. It was a pair of mated hummingbirds, the symbol of love, devotion and eternity to his mother's people. _

_He laid his left wrist beside it, revealing the tattoo's partner on his bronzed skin. It was their commitment to each other, their bond of always and forever. _

"_Just come back to me, and we'll leave here, together." He said, meeting her eye again. They were beginning to glisten with the promise of tears. "Like we always wanted to."_

"_I will. I promise." She looked at him, clearly desperate to have him join her, and the sight of her pain broke his heart. If he thought he could, he would, but Benton let none out of his sight, let alone those he considered property. With men loyal to him on every ship, Declan would never make it unseen. "I love you."_

"_I love you."_

Declan woke, opening his eyes to the nearly moonless sky above. He'd had another dream about Elizabeth, about the woman he loved who left him, and never returned. She broke her promise to him, her pledge of eternity.

He remembered standing at the water's edge where he could watch the ships coming and going. Hers wasn't even a speck on the horizon before Lord Benton approached him from behind and told him the truth. Elizabeth wasn't leaving to see her ailing father. She was leaving to get married.

Lady Elizabeth Westing, daughter of Lord Samuel Westing, Captain in the HBC's infantry, was set to be married to some other man of title. Benton openly told the young man that there was no way Elizabeth would ever be allowed to marry a half-Irish, half-Cree man, even if his father and hers were old friends.

Shortly after, Declan left Fort James and everything in it. He was done trying to fit into their world. He wanted to be with his mother's people, away from the English and the Hudson's Bay Company. The HBC had done nothing for him. The only reason he stayed for as long as he did was for Elizabeth. With her gone, why bother?

More than fifteen years had passed since then, and despite that time, he'd still dream of her in the middle of the night. Apparently, spending his entire childhood with her, his adolescence, and the first few years of adulthood was enough to infect him.

Declan looked at his left wrist, at the spot just before his thumb's knuckle. He still bore the mark of her. A thousand times he considered covering it with something else, but inevitably decided against it. It was a scar now, a memory of something he survived.

It was still the middle of the night when he woke, hours before they had to move. Unable to fall back asleep, however, Declan sat up. The fire had died sometime in the night and was little more than a pile of smoldering ashes.

He looked around his camp. It was him, Sokanon, and Michael. They were the only people he could trust. Sokanon was unconditional, but Michael was growing on his slowly but surely.

Declan stood and headed for the tree line to relieve himself. When he was done, he returned to camp and tossed another log on the embers, doing his best to stoke it to life.

Movement across the way caught his attention. Sokanon was waking. As the embers began to bite at the wood and turn to flames, he could clearly see her rising. He watched her over the growing fire as Sokanon shook the sleep from her head.

"Couldn't sleep?" Sokanon asked him.

Declan shook his head. "No."

He propped his knees up and rested his elbows on them, interlocking his fingers as he stared into the flames. While he watched the fire devour the piece of dried wood, Sokanon spoke again.

"It's her again, isn't it?"

Declan looked up and noticed his sister's dark eyes dart to his hands. He looked down and realized what he'd been doing. Unconsciously, Declan was rubbing the tattoo on his wrist. He immediately dropped his hands.

"No," he lied. He heard Sokanon scoff. Declan clenched his jaw. "I loved your sister. That's all that matters."

And he did. He loved his wife as much as a man with half a heart could love a person. She'd helped rebuild him, to make him a human being once again, but that didn't mean the ghost that was Elizabeth Westing still didn't haunt him from time to time.

Sokanon didn't look as though she believed Declan's statement. "You never speak of her, of the mattanit."

Declan flinched at the name that replaced Elizabeth's in his mind long ago. It was his people's term for an evil spirit, and that's what she'd become to him. Elizabeth Westing was little more than a bad memory, a thing that helped darken his heart, and put him on the path he currently walked.

"And there's a reason." Declan said with a growl, effectively putting an end to the conversation. "I'm going to go scout the shipment." He stood and grabbed his fur, wrapping it around his shoulders. "Get the Michael ready and meet me there."

Sokanon nodded and Declan disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

Like the gargoyles perched atop the buildings of the homeland he'd never see, Declan hunched down in the thick, low branches of his tree, and watched the people below him move. At the late hour, nearly everyone had retired, either choosing to sleep or simply falling unconscious from too much drink, but redcoats still made their rounds. They were the only ones for miles.

Their impractically bright uniforms were easy for his eye to see in the darkness, the white and red catching every hint of torchlight as they passed. They would trudge through the mud grumbling angrily about the cold, or whining about having duty that evening. They weren't stealthy men at the best of times. It was the arrogance of the English. They believed themselves so superior that they ordered their men to walk down the middle of a road in clear view, wrapped in the brightest colors possible, and left to defend themselves with nearly no training because no one dare attack the English. Pathetic. If he were of a different constitution, Declan may pity them.

A wicked, evil grin tugged at full lips hidden beneath his beard. Declan curled the unrefined bear pelt tightly over his broad shoulders, ducking further into the warmth it created. Winter was on the horizon which meant the days would only get shorter and the temperatures lower. It also meant that the furs would be in higher demand again, traded and sold at a higher volume than they were for the rest of the year.

"It's fuckin' bullocks, it is." One of the men below grumbled in a thick cockney accent. "We're sittin' out 'ere, freezing to deaf while the gov'na's all nice an' warm in that mansion of 'is. Ain't right, I tell ya, ain't right."

The young man with him sighed heavily and rolled his head in exasperation. "Shut it, Charlie." He groaned. "Wrong person 'ears you speakin' like that, and it's our asses in a cell."

Charlie wrapped his arms around his body tighter than before and tried to stay as close to the little fire as he could. He hopped up and down on his toes, trying to keep himself from freezing.

"I'm jus' sayin' it ain't right."

Declan chuckled. Unhappy men meant unfocused men.

He climbed down from his perch, slowly but with skill, and landed on the soft earth without a sound. The others, Sokanon and Michael, emerged from the bushes when he did.

"Four men guarding the shipment." He told them in a hushed tone. "You know what to do."

The two nodded and without a word disappeared into the woods again. Declan turned his attention back to the men at the fire. The other two soldiers were closer to the cart of goods, but within earshot.

He knelt low, fingering the hilt of his blades as he crept closer. His heart pumped fire through his veins, fueling his anticipation for the fight to come. Gripping his weapons firmly, Declan pulled them free of their leather sheaths. He moved closer and closer, inching his way toward the two men on his end of the cart.

When he reached the tree line, just outside of the fire's light, he paused. Declan squatted down in the shadows and waited. The two soldiers were still commiserating over poor working conditions, completely unaware of his presence.

Declan clenched his jaw. He took slow, steady breaths in and out. His muscles began to ache as he sat, waiting like a coiled spring to launch himself forward.

In the distance, he heard the grunts and groans of the other men. That was his signal and before his quarry could realize what was happening, he lunged for them.

His knife found easy bedding in Charlie's spine, sinking through the thin fabric of his uniform and the flesh beneath. Charlie fell to the ground with little more than a whimper, staring up at the giant who'd killed him without the slightest hint of understanding.

Before his compatriot could raise an alarm that would go unheard, Declan spun. He grasped the boy's uniform and threw him viciously into the tree he'd once used to spy on them. The young man hit the unyielding wood hard and crumbled to the ground. He whimpered and gasped for breath that seemed just out of reach. When his mind finally began to settle, however, he was privy to a sight Declan assumed he'd never forget.

Looming over him, dressed in worn, but fine English clothes and furs, with a blood-soaked dagger in one hand and a glinting blade in the other, was a monster. With his face partially shielded by a curtain of long, black hair, and his mismatched eyes fixed solely on the boy, Declan knew how terrifying he looked. He'd always been an intimidating man, both of stature and demeanor. Now, he was the boogeyman.

Declan took slow steps towards the boy who seemed to only just realize the situation he was in. He opened his mouth to scream, but Declan was on him in an instant, the knife still wet with Charlie's blood at his throat.

"Not a word." Declan said, the natural gravel in his voice making him all the more frightening. Charlie's friend instantly fell silent. "Do you know who I am?"

He nodded ferociously. "D-Declan Harp."

"That's right." He said, shifting his knife just enough the soldier could feel the icy sting of it against his cheek. "And do you know what's happening right now?"

The soldier nodded again. "You're robbin' us."

"No," Declan shook his head. "I'm robbing the HBC. Everything they had, is now ours. And do you know why you're still alive?"

As before, he nodded. "Cause you like to leave one person alive to tell 'em what happened."

An unnerving smile crossed Declan's lips, one that made his captive visibly flinch. "That's right. Congratulations. Tonight, that's you."

The boy breathed heavily and trembled beneath Declan's blade. He almost pitied him. The lad looked like he was barely old enough to know a woman's touch, and here he was being accosted by the Mad Native.

Declan held him tight, keeping the blade to the boy's cheek until he heard a bird's whistle from the distance. Declan let his eyes drift back to the soldier and he smiled once again.

"Now," he twirled his knife with a flourished motion before slipping it back into its sheath. When he had, he hoisted the boy to his feet and even went so far as to dust off his shoulders and straighten the front of his uniform. "You run along back to Fort James." He leveled a frightening glare on the soldier and delighted in the scared whimper that left his lips as a result. "And you tell Lord Benton _exactly_ what happened here. Okay?"

Charlie's friend nodded so emphatically, Declan wondered if he'd hurt his neck. Stepping back, Declan motioned for the soldier to leave, but he seemed too terrified to move. It wasn't until Declan stomped his massive foot and roared like an animal that the boy fled, racing off into the darkness as though his life depended on it.

Declan watched the bright uniform vanish from sight and laughed to himself because of it. He turned away from the direction the boy had run and jogged into the woods to meet the others so they could divide the spoils.

The trio didn't stop until they were nearly an hour away from where they'd raided the cart. They had to be sure it was far enough into the woods that any light cast by their torches or fire would be invisible to anyone patrolling the roads. It was there, tucked away safely in the woods, where they finally counted their bounty.

"Twenty pelts, six bags of grain, a barrel of gunpowder, and six muskets." Declan said, tallying the inventory. "Keep the pelts and a bag of grain. Give the rest to the tribe. Make it a peace offering for now."

Sokanon nodded. She knew he'd sell the pelts to the French and that the gunpowder and muskets would help the tribe defend themselves. She also knew that the added grain would help ensure their people could survive the winter, all things the tribes desperately needed. Even if Declan wasn't welcomed with the Lake Walkers at the moment, they couldn't possibly hate him so much to risk starvation.

"And the final bag?" Sokanon asked as she tossed it aside with the pelts.

"We'll use it for bartering in town." He replied. Sokanon nodded her understanding.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

A few days later, Declan made a trip to the Ale House to speak with Grace about gathering a fair bit of gunpowder.

Declan felt marginally better after his conversation with her. He knew he could trust her, despite what she thought, but that didn't mean he wanted to tell her his plans. The ginger wanted to know everything, and that was a problem. Either she didn't realize, or simply didn't care that knowledge about what he was doing would get her into more trouble than he was willing to risk.

And then there was Michael. Young, dumb, love-struck Michael Smyth caught sight of his girl and now could think of nothing else. Declan understood the lure of a pretty blonde, but he wasn't as foolish. Then again, when he was the boy's age, maybe he was? Women tended to make idiots of men no matter how old they were.

But Michael's desire to bring her with them into the wild was perhaps one of the dumbest things Declan had heard in quite some time. Michael was steadfast in his believe that Clenna could handle herself in the woods. Declan and Sokanon knew better.

Hours had passed and still there was no sign of the little Irish boy. Declan's fingers tingled with the need to move, to do anything. He wasn't the sort that handled being idle very well, and the longer they had to wait for Michael to return with his little girlfriend, the worse it became. Finally, he'd reached his limit.

When he glanced to his sister-in-law, Declan could tell she knew what he was about to say. Her scowl deepened.

"He made his choice, Sokanon." He told her.

But no sooner than he spoke did the back door to the Ale House burst open. Michael shoved himself in and quickly slammed the door shut behind him. He was alone.

"Where's Clenna?" Declan asked with only mild concern.

Michael's head dipped. "She ain't comin'. Beton's been feedin' 'er lies. I couldn't convince 'er to come wit us."

Declan wasn't surprised. "Are you with us?" He asked the boy.

Michael seemed a little offended when he replied, "I am."

"Good," Declan nodded. "Look, it's not safe here. Let's make camp outside of town." He motioned once more to the door. "Go,"

Michael, the closest to it, cracked the door open to glance outside. Declan saw his back tense. Michael ducked back inside with his face shades lighter.

"Soldiers," He said under his breath.

Sokanon immediately grabbed his coat. "They followed you." She growled.

"Come on," Declan said. They didn't have time to dwell.

The giant of the man led them out of the backroom and into the belly of the pub, but it was no use. The front door to the Ale House burst open and a sea of Redcoats flooded the area.

The fight that followed was bloody and violent. Redcoats fell one after another, whether by his blade, or Sokanon's. And yet, as it continued on for the briefest of minutes, Declan knew he couldn't keep the pace. He had to get Sokanon and Michael out before they were caught.

Declan's deep voice echoed through the pub as he told the pair to run. Michael was the first to dart off, and Sokanon a moment later with further prompting. When the pair was safe, he was immediately surrounded by rifles.

He growled at the soldiers like a wild animal who'd been cornered. In many ways, perhaps that was the most accurate description.

"Declan, please!" Grace snapped sharply.

"Declan Harp!" One of the soldiers yelled angrily. "In the name of Lord Benton, you are hereby under arrest."

Still vibrating with unanswered rage, Declan looked over his shoulder at Grace. Her eyes were wide in silent desperation, but his gaze didn't linger on her long. Instead, it drifted to something behind her.

Declan's chest immediately seized and his fearsome expression faded. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Grace turn to see what held his attention. God only knew how strange he must have looked to her, but he couldn't help it. Behind Grace's shoulder was a ghost from a lifetime ago.

Her long, fair hair was twisted into a braid that brushed her waist. Her figure was swathed in men's clothing –a white shirt, underbust corset, trousers, and high boots. The leather trench coat that hung from her shoulders was old and worn, as though it had been through hell.

She was older, but there was no denying who stood behind Grace.

The world stopped the moment his eyes landed on her. Declan's brows pulled together. He knew what he saw, _who_ he saw, and yet he didn't seem capable of comprehending it.

"Elizabeth," He muttered.

She opened her mouth to speak, but words never emerged before the soldiers descended on him. He stole glances of her as they jerked him from side to side. The shackles were so cold that they burned his wrists. Once in place, he was led viciously out of the Ale House at the muzzle of a dozen guns. Before he was gone entirely, he peered back over his shoulder.

It was her.

* * *

In the Magazine:

"Remove his hood."

The black fabric that had been fixed to his head was yanked almost violently away. The light burned his eyes, but only briefly. When his vision cleared, he saw Benton standing close by and wasn't even remotely surprised.

"I must say, I am disappointed in you, son." Lord Benton said. "Though, perhaps, not surprised."

Benton poured himself a bit more brandy. After setting the bottle aside, he lifted the small snifter to his lips and turned his cold eyes towards Declan. Every time Benton looked at him, Declan could only see the pain and bloodshed left in the man's wake.

"You had such potential, but you always had trouble keeping focus." Benton said with a heavy sigh.

"Go to hell." Declan growled through his teeth.

A sarcastic smile graced the old man's lips. He took a sip of his brandy, smugly musing over something unsaid. Declan wanted nothing more than to bury his knife into the man's eye and watch him writhe in the pain it caused.

"That defiance you have there," Benton lazily unrolled the bit of leather he'd been toying with since they removed Declan's hood. "That comes from that mother of yours, doesn't it?"

With a flick of his wrist, he revealed what was hidden within. Declan saw a number of shining silver instruments, all bearing a sharp edge. He rolled his shoulders as best he could, hoping to alleviate some of the growing tension. Something bad was going to happen.

"Your father might not have been a smart individual, but he was a good company man," Benton slid a narrow blade from its place within the leather roll and made sure Declan could see it. "A loyal man. That's why I took you in when he died, you know. Most thought I was mad myself for trying to tame a half-breed, but you proved them wrong, didn't you?" Benton pushed himself away from the table and gradually approached Declan. "Navigation, trading policies, and everything this business entails. You were a quick learner, weren't you?"

Declan remained silent, glaring hatefully at Benton. Cold blood still stained his forehead from where one of the men had hit him with something unforgivingly hard. Declan assumed it was a rifle stock, but he couldn't be certain. Regardless of its origin, he felt it crusting, scabbing, and new blood trickle down his face, threatening to seep into his still-open eyes.

His arms ached, he'd lost feeling in his hands long ago, and his back throbbed from where Benton had already gored into him. Declan could feel the blood dripping down what little skin still had any sensation. He knew Benton wasn't done, though. The Lord was a vengeful man, and he didn't threaten: he made promises. If he'd brought out the tools and bothered showing them to Declan, the young man knew they would be used. He could do nothing more than prepare himself for it.

"And then," Benton pressed the cold tip of his narrow knife to Declan's bare chest, just beneath his ribs, and met his eye. "You turn your back on me. You betrayed me, son. Why?"

Declan said nothing. He remained silent because he had nothing to say. He wasn't going to plea for forgiveness, nor did he feel like he had to justify himself to a man like Benton.

"You and I were a team." Benton pressed the tip of his blade into Declan's skin, piercing it and drawing a small dribble of blood. "You were my disciple, and I your mentor. I took you in, gave you everything, treated you like a son, and what do I get in return?" He stared sadly at Declan. "You show me nothing but disrespect."

He suddenly shoved the blade deep into the young man's body, not stopping until the hilt forced him to. Declan snarled loudly, even bearing his teeth as he did, but wouldn't let the sound pass his lips. His breathing turned ragged and labored while the pain of the wound rolled through his body.

Benton seemed saddened by what he was doing, but not so much it'd stop him. Declan could see he was genuinely disappointed. Declan believed that in his own twisted, warped way, Benton considered him a son, and he felt that the young man deserved what was happening to him.

Lord Benton was broken inside, his mind tainted, and his heart dead. Stringing someone up and torturing them, beating them, was no different to Benton than a parent taking a switch to their child's backside. He was a sick man.

Lord Benton twisted the blade violently. Declan had been growing weaker over the last few hours and finally was beginning to break. He barely stifled the sound of his pain.

Blood poured anew from the wound, gliding effortlessly down Declan's toned stomach and soaking into his trousers.

Benton's brows came together dejectedly. "Do you have anything to say to me?"

Declan took in one shaking breath after another. He steeled himself and tried to make his voice strong, but it was in vain.

"I always hated you." His words trembled as he spoke, revealing how tired his body was. "And the _second_ I could get away from you, I did."

Benton's face contorted in anger. The emotion exaggerated every deep line and wrinkle he'd gathered through decades upon decades of life. When he yanked the blade out, he did so cruelly, and made sure to do as much damage as possible in the process.

Declan cried out, the sound bursting from him whether he wanted it to or not. He began to shake, either from blood loss or anger. He felt his muscles beginning to tire, his joints screaming their protest to the heavy burden his body placed on them, and his mind slipping.

He breathed heavily while Benton took another sip from his brandy, obviously unconcerned with the fact Declan's blood stained his hands.

* * *

Long after the soldiers had taken Declan from the Ale House and the sun had already risen, Grace still thought about him. She knew that whatever Benton had in store for the man would be violent and cruel. And yet, while she thought about it, she remembered his reaction to one of her tenants. Grace took a seat in a once-overturned chair and thought back.

The fair-haired woman had arrived only two days prior. She kept to herself, never spoke as far as Grace knew, and caused no trouble. But the way Declan looked at her…

It was hard to describe to someone who hadn't seen it. His face held the perfect combination of fear, shock, sadness, and anger. It was a torrent of emotion reflected back, so strong that she could even see it in his cloudy, dead eye. Whoever the woman was, Declan knew her well enough that it left him temporarily dumb.

Grace's gaze drifted up. She stared at the ceiling, knowing that the blonde was only feet away, and rose. She wanted to speak to the stranger.

Filled with determination and confidence, Grace darted upstairs and down the short hall. She knocked heavily on the door and had to wait only a moment before it opened to reveal the woman Declan had called Elizabeth.

The blonde said nothing. She didn't offer a greeting, a smile, or question why Grace had gone to her room in the middle of the night. She simply stood there staring back through fluorescently-blue eyes.

"I'd like a word." Grace finally said.

Elizabeth blinked slowly. Her head tilted marginally to the side and after a moment of consideration, she stepped aside. Grace entered the room and when she reached the center of the small space, she turned to face her tenant. Elizabeth closed the door behind her and gave Grace her attention.

Finally able to look over the stranger in her entirety, Grace was unimpressed. She wore men's clothing. While some might consider it odd, it was no shock to Grace herself. The garments well-worn, clearly her only selection of clothes, and her boots were in need of repair. Around her waist was a belt that held a pair of knives on each hip, and another thick strap around each thigh that held narrower throwing blades.

Woven into her sunny braid were thin bits of leather. One strip of leather in particular held a long string of beautiful clay and glass beads that caught every ray of glowing candlelight. Her left ear was decorated with three thin hoops that pierced the skin. Her right held four, but the ring through her lobe had another pale bead and a small feather carved from bone.

Grace could admit that Elizabeth was a lovely young woman, but there was something hidden beneath the surface. She looked like a woman who'd lived a hard life, who had to fight for everything she'd ever had. Grace couldn't say how the two met, but she assumed Declan must have saved the blonde from something –maybe an abusive husband, or terrible home life.

"How do you know Declan Harp?" Grace finally asked.

Elizabeth remained silent. She tilted her head marginally to the side and arched a delicate brow. Grace ground her teeth. Unwilling to play the woman's games, Grace crossed her arms over her chest and squared herself on the obstinate young lady.

"Answer me." Grace said firmly. "I'm in no mood for games."

She remained silent as she smoothly placed her hands on the hilts of her knives. The action drew Grace's eye for obvious reasons. Elizabeth didn't wrap her fingers around the weapons, but allowed the palms of her hands to sit lazily on them. As a result, despite the obvious warning the action was meant to be, Grace noticed something. There was a mark on Elizabeth's left wrist just below the joint of her thumb. Grace could see only half of it, but half was enough.

Her brows tugged together as a new wave of emotion replaced her agitation. Her gaze slowly drifted back to Elizabeth's and it was in that moment the blonde seemed to realize what'd been seen. She quickly dropped her hands.

With a tight jaw, Elizabeth said, "You should leave now."

Grace, filled with a mixture that made her head ache, said nothing, but happily left. She stormed through the door and slammed it behind her, all the while her head swam. She'd seen the mark before.

Years ago, when she'd known Declan for only a short time and he was still mourning his family within her Ale House, she spotted the mark on his left wrist, just before his thumb knuckle. She asked him what it was, what it meant. She was met with silence and the most pained, angry looked she'd ever seen. It was more than enough to keep her from ever broaching the subject again, but she never forgot the mark. It clearly meant something to him, and now she found the same on the stranger.

* * *

The torture continued long after the sun rose, slowly and meticulously. Declan lost count of how many times something tore into his skin. After a little while, it all started to feel the same, and he was sure Benton noticed. As Declan hung limp from the ceiling, drifting in and out of consciousness, Benton took a seat and continued to enjoy his drink.

"You think me evil, don't you?" Benton asked nonchalantly. Declan did his best to focus. "Because I consider your mother's people savages and ply them with goods so I can steal their land. Perhaps I am." He sighed. "But that gave you no reason to run away with them, to take one as your bride. And why? Just to prove me wrong?" His voice began to shake as his anger grew. "I had to teach you a lesson, son, because you turned away from me."

Declan clenched his jaw and tightened every muscle he still had control over.

"That's why she had to die." Benton said as easily as one would give the time. "That's why they all had to die. That's what you do with animals, you see. You burn their homes so there's nothing to return to." A sick, vindictive grin turned the old man's lips. "You break their spirit."

Declan's breathing turned deep and his body went rigid as memories of that day flashed in his mind. He could still smell the gunpowder from the muskets, the smoke from the burning leantoos and huts. He still remembered the screams of the dying.

"You'd have been proud of your wife, I will say that." Benton retrieved a long, thin piece of iron. It looked like it might be used in leatherwork, a tool to puncture holes through tough hide. "She fought, quite hard I'm told."

He pressed the tip of the instrument to the junction of Declan's bent shoulder where it would do the most damage. Declan flinched and struggled to get away. He knew how much it would hurt.

"Beg my forgiveness, and this ends." Benton told him. Declan remained silent, staring back defiantly. "Say the words."

Again, Declan said nothing. Benton shook his head and without a second's hesitation, shoved the rod directly into Declan's shoulder until it hit bone.

It caused a pain he wasn't prepared for. Declan screamed, hollered so loudly he swore the windows would shake if there were any. His vision turned white for the briefest of moments before the dim, stone room came back into focus. Breathing was nearly impossible, something just out of reach until the shock of the injury faded enough his brain could focus on the task. When given the chance, he gasped for it, pulling as much air into his lungs as he could manage because he knew Benton would try and take it from him again.

"Say the words, son." Benton repeated calmly.

Panting heavily, Declan did his best to pull his thoughts together just enough to speak. "Never." He growled hatefully.

Benton seemed unsurprised by his response.

He ripped the spike from Declan's shoulder. Declan couldn't express the relief he felt with the obstruction gone, but it was only partial. Every time he put the slightest bit of pressure on the injury, sparks of pain flashed in his eyes.

"Would you like to hear how your wife died?" Benton tossed the spike onto the table. The subdued clank of it barely registered with Declan. "She was a resilient woman." He turned and leaned once again on the table and crossed his bloody arms over his chest. "And when she did finally die, she did so calling out your name."

Declan's brows pulled together and his heart sank. One thing Benton taught him years ago was a man can grow accustomed to injured flesh, but an injury to his heart wouldn't fade so easily, and Benton knew what would hurt Declan the most. It wouldn't matter if Benton's words were lies or not, once uttered, Declan would be able to think of nothing else, and he knew Benton knew that.

"Don't," he whispered. The sound barely made it past his lips.

"It wasn't until after she died, however," Benton continued, ignoring Declan's weak pleas. "That the truth of her condition finally came to light."

Declan felt his eyes sting with the promise of tears. The pain from his body was beginning to fade into the back of his mind while thoughts of his wife took the foreground.

"She was pregnant, you see, with your unborn daughter."

Breathing hurt and his heart felt like it was torn from his chest. "You lie." He choked on the words, but it was the strongest he could manage.

"Do I, son?" Benton challenged.

Filled with incalculable rage and pain, Declan roared. He lunged for Benton, struggling violently against his bonds. He wanted to get his hands on Benton, to finally finish what he'd always planned on behalf of his wife and what would have been his son.

"I'll kill you!" he screamed, doing all he could to escape. "I'll fucking kill you."

But his body was weak, broken, and his spirit was following suit. There was nothing Lord Benton hadn't taken from him.

True or not, Declan was defeated with one declaration.

"Just tell me why, son." Benton poured himself another drink. Declan looked at him, barely able to keep his head up. "Tell me why you turned your back on me."

Declan didn't have the strength to fight anymore. Benton had robbed him of that, too, and whether he wanted to or not, he finally did as he was told.

"Elizabeth," Her name left his lips on a breath. It was the second time he'd spoken it in years, and it was no easier than the first.

Lord Benton perked. He seemed suddenly very interested in what Declan had to say, even tilting his head marginally to the side.

"Captain Westing's daughter?" he asked, despite knowing full well who Declan was referring to. Declan did his best to nod. He hadn't expected Benton's reaction. He laughed. The man laughed heartily at what Declan said, as though it was perhaps one of the most ridiculous things he'd ever heard. "More than ten years later, and you're still upset about a woman above your station?" He laughed again and shook his head.

"You took her, too." He said weakly.

"She was never yours." Benton grinned. "So, all of this is because of a girl you barely knew?"

"No," His raspy voice cracked as he tried to strengthen his resolve. "But it helped."

Benton scowled at him and looked uglier for it.

* * *

Later that evening, Grace found herself standing in the backroom with Clenna and Sokanon, the latter already arming herself for the fight to come. They'd only learned where Declan was being held an hour ago and apparently an hour was as long as the Native woman could wait.

"The streets are still swarmin' with redcoats." Grace said sternly. "Ya won' do anyone any good by gettin' yerself killed."

"We know he is at the Magazine. Michael is probably there, too." Sokanon replied. "I will free them. Isn't that what you want?"

Grace's shoulders slumped and her stern expression softened. "That's what we all want."

"Good," Sokanon nodded. She glanced briefly to Clenna and then back to Grace. "Watch the girl."

She turned to leave and reached out for the doorknob when the Irishwoman shot to her feet.

"My name's Clenna," she said sternly. "And yer gonna be needin' me. Unless you can pick an English lock."

Grace noticed Sokanon's apprehension. She doubted highly that the Native woman wanted the tagalong, but before she had the chance to say anything, someone else spoke.

"I can,"

The room shifted. Grace looked over her shoulder and spotted the source: Elizabeth. The blonde must have heard them speaking in the backroom and chose to join them. She stepped forward, deeper into the store room, and Grace noticed Sokanon tense.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"No one important." Elizabeth replied.

Grace, for whatever reason, spoke. It might not have been a good idea, and perhaps she was too stressed and agitated to realize what she was doing, but she didn't bother attempting to stop herself. The words simply came out.

"Tha's not what that tattoo on yer left hand says."

Attention quickly drifted to Elizabeth's left hand as Grace assumed it might, and the blonde shot her a deadly stare. Grace felt a genuine shard of ice creep up her spine at the power behind it.

Eventually, Elizabeth's eye returned to the two young women before her. She seemed to glance over them only briefly.

"I can pick the lock." She told Sokanon plainly. "Come, or don't."

And without another word, she left. Sokanon glared at Grace as though it was her fault the blonde had appeared in the first place.

"I'm comin', too." Clenna added. Sokanon's glare deepened. "For Michael."

Grace could see how badly Sokanon wanted to erupt, how badly she wanted to yell at everyone and rescue Declan herself, but she didn't. Instead, she let out a loud growl and stormed off. Clenna cast Grace a parting glance before she followed, too.

Left alone, Grace didn't know how to process the odd situation. She'd hoped that Sokanon would have recognized Elizabeth, would have reacted to her in some way, but she didn't. It made no sense. Until that moment, Grace assumed that his sister-in-law would have known Declan the longest. Apparently that might not have been the case.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

Two of the three young women crept through the woods better than the last. Clenna was stuck with her gown, stumbling over rocks and roots as she went. Sokanon was angry that she was slowed down by the Irish girl. At least the English girl could keep up.

They eventually reached the Magazine and immediately ducked behind a rock face. From their perch in the darkness, they could see two soldiers standing guard over the door. As she thought about what they would do in order to get inside, she couldn't help but look sideways at the woman to her right. She didn't recognize the fair-haired European. She didn't understand why she was there, why she was invested in either Declan or Michael, and after Grace's remark, Elizabeth kept her left hand tucked away, robbing Sokanon of the chance to see what made it so important.

But Sokanon wasn't a stupid woman. Something told her, a feeling deep in her gut, said she knew what the blonde was attempting to hide and it twisted her stomach. Somehow, without evidence one way or the other, Sokanon knew she was sitting next to the _mattanit_.

"Why are you doing this?" Sokanon finally asked. The blonde glanced only briefly in her direction. "Why are you here?"

"I have my own reasons." Elizabeth replied.

"That's not good enough." Sokanon hissed through her teeth.

Unwilling to risk the woman somehow compromising her mission, Sokanon reacted swiftly. She reached for a blade and quickly drew it on Elizabeth. Being they were so close, she was able to press it to the blonde's neck. The same instant, Elizabeth drew a knife of her own and mimicked Sokanon's action.

The air went still while the two of them held a knife at one another's throat. Sokanon knew that she was capable of slicing the stranger's throat, but had to wonder if the stranger had the same conviction.

A tense moment later, Clenna finally managed to join them and was clearly shocked by what she'd walked up on.

"The hell's goin' on 'ere?" she demanded as loudly as she dared.

Sokanon ignored the Irishwoman's question and instead asked one of her own.

"Are you her?" Her jaw was tight as she spoke.

"Am I who?" Elizabeth asked just as tersely.

Cruelly, Sokanon replied, "The _mattanit_."

Elizabeth flinched, ever-so-slightly. If she hadn't been so intensely focused on Elizabeth's face, Sokanon knew she might have missed it. To add even more confusion to the situation, Elizabeth's lowered her weapon and slid it back into her holster.

"Probably," she muttered under her breath.

Sokanon glowered, but had the answer she wanted. It offered a bit –not much, but a bit- of clarity. Now she had a face to go along with the past, a face to place to the heartache that Declan said he'd suffered before he was married.

Declan had only ever spoken once about Elizabeth to Sokanon in all of the years they'd known one another. It wasn't long after he married her sister, when he and Sokanon were hunting together. She had spotted the tattoo on his wrist and knew immediately what it meant. Excited, she asked if it was for her sister, but the dark shadow that fell across Declan's face told her otherwise. He said that no, it was a mistake he made when he was a boy and it meant nothing, but Sokanon knew better. That particular symbol meant so much more than "nothing".

"What's a… mattanit?" Clenna asked unsurely.

"An evil spirit." Elizabeth replied before she moved beyond the subject entirely. "We can sneak around the back of the Magazine. You take the left, I'll take the right." She looked back at Sokanon. "That work for you?"

After a brief moment of thought, Sokanon nodded. The two set off shortly after, ignoring Clenna's frantic questions about what she was supposed to do when they did.

Side by side and as silent as possible, the two crept around the back of the small building. Their paths soon diverted and took them on either side of it. When Sokanon reached the front corner, she peered around the edge. The soldiers stood roughly two feet from the building which gave her an uninterrupted view to the other side. A split second after she looked in Elizabeth's direction, the blonde emerged. Their eyes met and after a silent agreement, they lunged forward.

The soldiers never had the chance to fight back before a blade was plunged into each. They crumbled to the ground, lifeless and useless. Almost immediately afterward, Elizabeth went to work on the lock. Noise caught Sokanon's attention. When she looked up, she spotted a shocked and slightly-sick-looking Clenna approaching.

"Ya killed 'em." She sounded shocked.

"Yes," Sokanon replied. Of course they killed the guards. She didn't understand Clenna's confusion with the matter.

A loud click told Sokanon that the lock was finally undone. Elizabeth quickly yanked it from the slot and tossed it away. They charged inside and what she saw broke her heart. Michael was off to the side, but it was the large, prone body of her brother in a pool of blood. Sokanon was at his side in an instant, but only had time to feel his breath before they heard approaching soldiers.

They only just had time to hide before more redcoats entered the space, but it did them little good. If the soldiers had been wise, they would have stayed away. Sokanon killed one, and Michael the other. Together, they made quick work of the pair, and were finally able to devote their attention to the dying man.

As quickly as they could, three of the four gathered up Declan's limp body and pulled him into the woods before more redcoats could return.

* * *

They walked for more than a day before they found a secluded place to hide. Elizabeth would alternate with Sokanon and Michael in dragging Declan over the vast terrain. Clenna was all but useless, which drew on Elizabeth's nerves almost as much as her incessant complaining.

This hadn't been what she planned when Elizabeth returned to Fort James.

Elizabeth returned to Fort James for one very simple purpose: she was going to murder Lord Archibald Benton. Given what he'd done to her, it would be particularly brutal and violent.

It was her fault, really, for trusting a man like that. She should have known the letter wasn't from her father. She should have known a lot of things back then. Maybe she would have had a happier life if she hadn't been such a gullible child. Lessons learned, perhaps. Although, sometimes, Elizabeth missed the person she was and the person she should have been.

While Michael built a fire, Sokanon and Elizabeth looked over Declan's wounds. Elizabeth's attention was primarily on the unconscious body, but she could feel the Native woman's eyes on her. No matter how much time passed, she could feel them every once and a while, bearing into her with a suspicious curiosity. Eventually, it became too irritating for her to ignore.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" Elizabeth finally asked as she probed the stab wound in Declan's side.

Without the slightest hesitation, she replied, "I don't trust you."

"Nor would a rational person expect you to." Elizabeth replied coldly. When she looked up, she saw Sokanon's dark, nearly-black eyes focused sharply on her. There was an undeniable strength in her eyes, a secure resolution that –should Elizabeth harm Declan- Sokanon would have no issues with killing the blonde. "Look, I don't know what Declan's told you about me, or if he's said anything at all, but I'm not here to hurt him. My only concern right now is tending to his wounds."

Sokanon seemed uneasy with the prospect, as though she thought Elizabeth had ulterior motives. She didn't. Of course she didn't. Until she saw him in the Ale House, Elizabeth had no idea Declan was even in Fort James. She'd been just as surprised to see him as he was her. When the ruckus brought her downstairs, she expected some angry drunks battling soldiers. Not him. Never him.

After a moment, Sokanon nodded her apprehensive agreement, and Elizabeth went back to assessing Declan's multiple injuries. She wished she had some animal sinew to sew the cuts shut. Most could heal on their own, but a few were so deep…

With a rag and some water, she began to clean the blood from his skin, and think. The simple task let her mind wander, so it did. It drifted to years and years ago when everything changed. It thought back over everything that had happened in the meantime.

As she dabbed the wound on his head, Elizabeth's gaze danced languidly over Declan's features. He looked so different. In so many ways, she couldn't believe it was the same person she knew all those years ago. The Declan Harp from her youth stood tall with his shoulders back and proud. His eyes were intelligent and focused, but clear. He had a youthful glow, the glow of someone who might have experienced hardship, but rose above it. It was the glow of someone who knew that his future was a prosperous one.

The man who laid before her was none of those things. When she'd seen him in the Ale House, he was bent forward, his lips pulled back over his teeth as he growled like an animal at the soldiers. He now had the bearings of a predator, of a creature who was about to attack those who dared move too close.

The kindness she once saw was gone, the glow replaced by a cold exterior she didn't expect. His hazel eyes no longer held any kind of life, any joy or happiness. Instead, they had darkened and one was in the process of clouding over. The scars down the left side of his face told her that something vicious had happened which led to the loss of use in it.

Wrapped in furs and with a face covered with long hair, Declan Harp was a stranger to her now. Though, if she were being honest, she could say the same about herself. It'd been a long while since Elizabeth looked in a mirror and recognized the woman staring back.

When she finally finished cleaning the wounds on the front of his body, Elizabeth had to tend to his back.

"I need someone's help." She said to whoever cared to listen. "I have to check his shoulders."

No one responded for long enough that she was able to remove most of his furs. Eventually, however, Michael approached. She told him where to touch and guided his actions, and soon they had Declan as comfortably on his stomach as he probably could be. The sight of his back made her stomach curl. Those marks weren't created by a whip, which she was intimately familiar with. Instead, they were deliberately carved into his skin and into the muscle beneath.

Fighting the rising anger and bile, Elizabeth went to work.

* * *

The night had gone on almost completely silent. There was barely a rustle from the breeze, no one spoke, and most of the animals had gone into hiding to escape the bitter cold. The only real sound to be heard was that of the crackling fire.

Sokanon sat near Declan's sleeping body. Her gaze never rested. It constantly drifted from one person to another. Sometimes, it would linger on Clenna, the young girl who had no business being in the woods. Sometimes, it would land to Michael, the boy that Sokanon still didn't know whether or not was completely on their side. And sometimes, it would land on Elizabeth. At the moment, it was on the Englishwoman.

Elizabeth was sat on the other side of the fire, staring into the flames with her knees up and elbows resting atop them. She seemed deep in thought as she stroked a small spot on her left wrist. Sokanon narrowed her eyes. She'd seen Declan do the same mindless act more than once –and only a few days ago, in fact.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught the young woman's attention. It was Michael and he was inching closer to Elizabeth. He seemed curious about her.

Eventually, he settled about as close to Elizabeth as he dared. She didn't bother glancing in his direction.

"I'm Michael," He finally said.

Her thumb stopped rubbing the spot on her wrist, but remained otherwise still.

"Elizabeth," She replied.

"Nice meetin' ya." He said unsurely. "What's that?"

He pointed blatantly to her hand. Either he didn't realize how brash he was being with a complete stranger, or he didn't care. It could have been both, really. Regardless of the reason, Sokanon wondered if the fair-haired woman would answer honestly.

"Harp's got one, too." He said.

Elizabeth's jaw tensed slightly and Sokanon could've sworn she saw the woman's eyes glass over.

"They're hummingbirds." She replied and then fell silent. After a moment, Elizabeth rose to her feet, mumbled something about gathering more firewood, and disappeared into the darkness.

Michael's curious gaze drifted to Sokanon. "Harp's got a tattoo of a hummin'bird?" She glared lightly at him for the tone in his question. "Why?"

She took a deep breath and glanced at her brother. While part of her didn't want to say, she knew that Michael would either continue asking her or, at some point, bother Declan with the question. Sokanon didn't want that because she doubted Declan would be kind about his response.

With the stick she'd been leaning against, Sokanon began to draw on the ground. The tip of the stick slowly, but surely, glided over the soft earth, leaving a defined line in its path.

"It is a pair," She said as she drew two circles, their ends touching to form a number 8. "Always together," She began to draw a narrow triangle off the left side of the top circle that would become the beak, "they mean peace, happiness," Sokanon drew a second narrow beak that jutted out to the right of the bottom circle. She eyed the symbol. "And eternal love." Her gaze drifted back to Michael.

He said nothing, but the surprise was clearly written across his face. Secure in the knowledge that he wasn't going to ask any more questions, Sokanon's eyes drifted down to the symbol in the dirt. It's meaning was one most, if not all, Natives knew, no matter the tribe, and it wasn't taken lightly. If they both bore the mark, it meant far more than either of them pretended it meant, and that bothered Sokanon.


End file.
